


Depuis la Terre, ils sont Insaisissables.

by fassenheimr (svartalfheimr)



Series: aerial view: attrape-moi si tu peux [4]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Everyone Has Issues, Hurt James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Hurt Tony, M/M, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, POV James "Rhodey" Rhodes, PT is hard, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Rhodey Feels, Rhodey has issues, Rhodey-centric, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Tony Stark Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 17:49:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9283211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svartalfheimr/pseuds/fassenheimr
Summary: Rhodey is having a hard time adjusting. Natasha offers support in her own way and brings news that will change everything.An IronFalcon soulmate AU, in which Tony knew all along that Sam was his soulmate, but Sam didn't.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to my work “Dans le royaume des airs, nous sommes des Dieux.”
> 
> Unfortunately, I don't think it can be read as a stand-alone.
> 
> Set loosely after “Dans le royaume des airs, nous sommes des Dieux.”  
> I should warn you, Rhodey is in a bad state. He's angry, at himself and at everything. He's harsh on his physical condition, and because of it, I feel the need to raise a trigger warning for ableism. His views are not my own.  
> My Natasha might be a little OOC if you love her as a cold spyssassin without emotions. It's just that Scarjo showed us Nat could feel too, so I like her that way.  
> There is a spoiler for the current season of Agents of SHIELD, if you haven't seen it, don't read if you don't want to be spoiled. For those who don't watch it, there's just a mention about Inhumans and the role of Jeffrey Mace in the show, but you don't need to watch it to understand.  
> As always, there is a lot of anxiety (and isn't that sentence awful.) Also, swearing.
> 
> I realise this whole series is just a huge angst-fest. I'm so sorry, I swear it wasn't supposed to be. I promise I'm going to make it all better, so please stay and bear with me?
> 
> Unbeta'd. Also, English is not my primary language ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

“He's looking worse than you these days.”

 

Natasha's words were harsh, but James knew she didn't mean any of it. It was her way of telling him she still saw him as before — and she had never shied from being, well, hurtful, but not really. James didn't know how to explain it, that way she had with some people like she did not care. It took him a while to realize she did it to keep them afar. For a long time, James even thought she didn't like him because he saw the way she was with Steve, her  _friend_ , soft and caring, a glaring contrast from the cold eyes and blank face often given to him and Tony. James frowned. He looked at the window. He purposefully avoided his own reflection and looked far away. It had been raining for two days straight.

 

Back in the day, his knee would have hurt a day before. It always did before raining. Now–

 

“I heard Mace's watching the two of you.”

 

That's right, Mace – the journalist turned hero and Director of the revived SHIELD. James didn't know what to think of it,  _all of it_ _._ As long as they didn't mess with him. It was a strange thing though — to realize that the world was moving on, accepting things more easily, almost in that resigned way he'd seen in the most hardened New-Yorkers. Life went on, after New York, after HYDRA, after Ultron. Wars were still fought in the Middle-East, dictatorships still rose in third-world countries. Aliens, superheroes, villains, or Inhumans didn't stop mankind from its own madness. It's almost funny, he thought, how much people were willing to accept for safety — Mace stood in front of the camera, that perfect man, the hero, and savior, with his perfect smile and his unbreakable body, and everyone was suddenly okay with an agency that had once way too much power in its own hands and had let itself be infiltrated by the worst kind of snakes evil could give.

  


The world kept on living, kept on steppin', while James was still here, stuck in the chair, not even able to see himself in a mirror, or get used to the only thing that would make him walk again.

  


Natasha put a glass of water in front of his eyes. He huffed and took it from her, gulping half of it silently. His PT sessions always turned him sour, some more than others — and this one had given him hell. His bad mood was probably radiating through miles around him. Natasha didn't seem to care, favoring to stay with him rather than to go on her way. She had a habit of doing that almost every time PT took a hard toll on him — how she knew  _when_ , he didn't know, and wasn't sure he wanted to. He looked at her, saw the softness in her eyes, a graceful eyebrow almost raised in hidden worry, and realized she was looking at his reflection on the window — looking at him, not at the chair. He wasn't used to that, to have someone truly looking at _him_. When people thought he wasn't aware of them, they always looked at the wheelchair. Always the wheelchair. When she realized he was looking at her, her blank face was back, and she lifted her eyebrow in a daring manner. James felt something loosen in his chest. It took her one look to make him feel a bit better. He smirked, and for the first time since she arrived, decided to talk.

 

“Nu-uh, now I know _this_ ,” he made a circling gesture with his hand at her face, “is not true. Don't you think I haven't discovered what a softie you are.”

 

Natasha returned his smirk and huffed through her nostrils. She knew that game like the back of her hand.

 

“Damn. Next, you'll tell me you found out I have three Hatchimals in my flat.”

 

He shook his head and snorted. He already knew, he offered her the first, after seeing the glint in her eyes when she watched the commercial. To see Natasha let her guard down was a rare sight, and James thought he might be one of the few that have been able to witness it. The next day, when he saw her smile curiously at the talking egg, he knew he'd been right.

  


Turning back again to the window, James looked at Tony in the lobby facing them, the glass building leaving the two of them able to see him. He was sprawled on a couch, with a book probably older than he was in his hands and a frown on his face.

 

Now that he was truly seeing the man, James' stomach churned. Natasha was right. Tony looked  _awful_. To the untrained eyes, he didn't look bad per se, but to those who had the habit of looking out for signs of Tony's unwellness, there was no mistaking. His Black Sabbath shirt was a little larger on him than usual. The bags under his eyes had bags of their own, and even if that was no news, somewhat they looked meaner than they usually did. His facial hair was unkempt, and a haircut would've probably been in order. Could've been because he hadn't needed to be presentable for a while, after all, SI was in very good hands — no one would be better for it than the amazing Pepper Potts was —, but James knew better. This wasn't him. Even when the man worked for a long stretch of time, often coming back to the surface with an unhealthy glow on his face, he hadn't been in such a bad state. The last time James saw his friend in the same state he was now, Tony had been slowly dying of palladium poisoning.

  


The fact that Tony seemed to spend less and less time in his workshop dawned on him. It had been going on since a couple of weeks ago — ever since James saw him fly out in the Iron Man suit God-knows-where one morning, only to come back a day after, closing himself off for a week in the library. Ever since that day, Tony had been slowly slipping away. He had spent less time around him, and apart from his PT sessions, James hadn't seen the man in the same room as him for a week for more than a couple of minutes, despite the two of them living in the same place. It hadn't been that unusual in the first place, James was used to Tony spending all his time in his workshop, but since the genius did not spend his time there now—

  


James felt sick to his stomach. He was so _dense_ , he should've seen it. He saw the man every day, saw him acting strangely, saw his degrading state, and yet he hadn't put two and two together. Tony had spent most of his time in the library, the only room in his private quarters of the Facilities that Tony had wanted to be as faithful it could be as the one of his childhood. A dark room only lit by the emeralite lamps, the smell of old paper and dust invading the senses, Maria Stark's books scattered all over the place, or at least the ones salvaged from the wreckage of the Malibu estate. How come he hadn't seen all the signs?

 

“It's more obvious when you don't see him daily.”

 

Natasha put a fleeting hand on his arm. A soft gesture full of meanings, something she excelled at. James was more and more grateful for her in his life every day. Sometimes — although he had always quickly crushed the thought — he wished the words on his chest had been hers. He felt bad every time the thought came to him. He knew it was stupid of him, just a way to cope with the wait for his other half. And what an other half — definitely one to wait for. He looked back at the man on the other side of the glass, sprawled on a red sofa and seemingly engrossed in a book, at the way his body seemed thinner, at his reading glasses accentuating the dark circles under his eyes, his skin a shade too light as if the sun hadn't graced his features for a while, a sight James thought he would never experience coming from a man who spent most of his adult life in Florida, and at his foot dangling off the couch, nervously shaking, an unconscious gesture that broke the almost painting-like scene.

 

Tony seemed to feel their eyes on him. He lifted himself half up, turned his head toward the window and froze for an instant. Natasha waved a hand. As if on cue, he closed the book in his hands and put it on his lap, returning them the gesture, although a little slower.

 

Like everything he did these days.

  


They both looked at Tony sitting himself up, stretching his back and going into the Facilities, slowly disappearing from sight. The book laid on the sofa, forgotten. James felt a lump in his throat. His hands started shaking, a sign he recognized as upcoming outbursts from him. He clenched them, willing the emotions away, purposefully avoiding to look at anything but the book — not Natasha, not the rain, not his reflection.

  


“You can't see everything. You already have a lot to think about.”

 

If anyone else had told him that, James would've flipped them off. He wheeled himself away from the window, turning back to the corridor leading to the kitchen. He needed coffee. He could hear Natasha's soft footsteps behind him — he felt grateful for the little gesture. She knew he hated when people walked beside him. The difference in height unnerved him.  _Not for long though_. Soon he would be taller. It would take time, but he had faith in Tony, and if the man told him he only had to take more time to get used to the braces, then James was sure it was true. Tony wouldn't lie to him, not about that.

 

His arms were shaking. He knew it was physical. The last session had been harsh on him, he'd pushed himself too much. Every time he pushed on the wheels, he could feel the strain. He'd chosen it after all — he didn't want to always rely on technology. He didn't need no power wheelchair, his arms could do all the work. The shrink told him it was okay to rely on others sometimes, to rely on what he could. No, thanks. James was a grown-ass man, and military. He'd use the braces because it's his only chance to walk again, but that's it. For now, his arms were enough.

 

 _To need help is no sign of weakness_ , Vision told him once. He'd wanted to call bullshit but kept silent.

 

He turned on the coffeemaker. When he started to put coffee grounds in the sink, Natasha cleared her throat loudly. Dammit, yeah, he forgot. He put the rest in the trash — he didn't know which one of the bins he was supposed to put those in, so the first one would be it. At least he didn't use the garbage disposal _again_. Bear with him, he wasn't used to that kind of luxury, his flat had a trashcan outside and he used only bags inside. It wasn't like he had spent much time in it anyway. Natasha put two mugs on the counter beside the coffee maker, and sat on a nearby chair, silently looking at him, almost mulling. James took an apple from the fruit basket, took a bite and stared at her. He waited for her to speak. She sighed.

 

“ _He_  called.”

 

Ah. So this was why she was here in the first place. When he didn't answer, she looked at the coffee maker brewing.

 

“He wants Sam to sign.”

 

“What?” James furrowed his brows, “Why?”

 

She served him his cup, shaking her head. James pulled a face at her. She looked blankly at him.

 

“I don't know.”

 

He believed her — it's not every day the Black Widow admits about _not_ knowing something. Oddly, it didn't reassure him. What Natasha didn't know couldn't be good. She kept staring at him, and it took him a while to understand the silent question. He tilted his head to the side, a small frown probably creasing his forehead.

 

“I don't know either. I'm not the one talking to Rogers once in a while.”

  


Natasha neither confirmed nor denied his underlying statement. Were they talking about anything else he would've snorted at such a thing. James wasn't an idiot. They might avoid keeping him in the loop these days, but he'd always known the redhead had been playing both sides of the game. In a way, he understood. He would never admit it out loud, but he knew, in his own twisted and almost innocently arrogant way, that Rogers was a bit right. Unfortunately for the Captain, the world wasn't as black and white, and nothing had never been that simple.

  


He fell silent for a while, mulling about the news when it hit him, “But that's not it. Why are you telling me this?”

 

“Because,” she sighed heavily, and James for the first time saw how tired she really was, “He wants Sam to take up the shield.”

 

James laughed hysterically. He didn't know why. She looked at him as if he'd grown another head, and her face betrayed how worried she was. There's no way he'd let her act like she didn't care anymore. He laughed so hard he started to feel his cheeks wet, and wiped at the tears, forgetting his apple altogether. Rogers wanted Sam to become the new Captain America. The _nerves_ of the man, demanding things. It almost felt surreal. Last time James checked, the man gave up the shield to Tony. If the situation wasn't so incongruous, James would've even clapped at it. He calmed himself, the laugh slowly slipping away, taking a sip of his coffee and grabbing a bite of his apple. Natasha waited for him to speak. He shrugged.

 

“I'm not the one to decide if Sam's worthy of the shield. Hell, _he_  isn't either. And what the hell, anyway? Since when Sam can't decide for himself? Does he even want to sign the Accords?”

 

Natasha stared at him for a while, not answering. Ah, so she thought the airman was a sore spot for him. James snorted.

 

“Don't look at me like that. I have nothing against Sam Wilson.”

 

She nodded slowly, almost as if she didn't fully believe him. James didn't care, he knew it wasn't Sam's fault. Granted, it took him a couple of months to admit it, but now he knew. If Sam hadn't avoided the hit, he would've been the one in his place, and James couldn't bear to even _think_ about it.

 

“You hold Vision responsible.”

 

James knew that, technically, he should contradict her. But he didn't.

  


Natasha said nothing more for a while. They enjoyed their coffee in silent. The lack of sound wasn't unnerving — it was almost comforting to James. Sometimes, when he spent the night unable to sleep, and that he'd found himself looking at the window giving view to the private runway of the Facilities, the testing grounds where he, Iron Man and Falcon used to fly off next to it, visible in his peripheral vision, he would realize after a moment engrossed in his thoughts that Natasha would be silently crouched on the floor, besides his legs, looking at the stars outside. These nights, they never talked — they didn't need to —, and would never mention them either. It was the kind of silent support they could offer each other, a mutual understanding, a way to cope. The way silent fell in the kitchen soothed him the same way those nights did. James wanted to keep this moment intact and to let it last a little while longer, but he was still confused about Rogers' demand.

 

“Though, why? Why should he sign now? Did he have a change of thoughts?”

 

“Who should sign what now?”

 

James turned his head at the direction the words came from. Tony came up beside him, patting his shoulder, and when he saw the mugs in their hand, he quickly made his way to the sink, raising his eyebrows at Rhodey when he saw it was clean. Rhodey rolled his eyes when the man pointed at the garbage disposal and gave him the thumbs up, letting himself grin at the childish behavior. Tony served himself a cup of coffee and stood against the counter. He grimaced when he took a gulp, making a show feigning to throw up at the taste, pulling the remaining liquid in the sink with his arm stretched and his body as far away as possible like it had offended him. James started laughing, acting as if he was also offended and put a hand on his heart as if he had been hurt. Tony shrugged nonchalantly, pointing at the sink with the now empty mug.

 

“Well, Rhodey, your manners are saved, but God forbid your coffee's still shit. Hi, Nat.” He put a quick kiss on top of her head while putting the empty mug on the counter beside hers, and despite the odd act, the redhead only smiled softly at the genius. Rhodey looked at them, his eyes squinting, and opened his mouth, only to be overrun by Tony.

  


“So,” the genius looked at them suspiciously, rubbing his hands together as if he was cold — which was odd since the Facilities' room temperature was fully managed by FRIDAY, who always did a great job —, “what were you two conspiring about?”

 

Rhodey still wanted to comment on the genius kissing Natasha almost tenderly on the head, at such a display of affection from Tony that had feltso _natural_ to the man that he hadn't even put thoughts in it, but Rhodey hid it when he saw the way Natasha glared at him, daring him to say something. Well, he hadn't seen them much interact before all went to shit, but maybe they were closer than he had previously thought. He reckoned the redhead had been more around when Pep and Tony had decided to take a break. A break that finally turned into the two of them ending the relationship altogether. Rhodey though was sure Natasha and Tony weren't romantically involved, but that didn't mean the two didn't become close friends during that period.

 

That would explain why Natasha had seemed so upset after her encounter with Tony right after Rhodey's crash. The genius' cold behavior had been more hurtful to her than Rhodey had previously imagined. For several weeks, Rhodey hadn't seen her, then one night, she came into the Facilities, although she was still supposed to be on the run. The three of them faced each other in the very same kitchen, not saying a word, Natasha ready to bolt until Tony put ice cream out of the fridge and silently gave each of them a spoon. Ever since that, she would sometimes appear at their side, always in the private quarters, and they would act as if she belonged.

 

Because silence was stretching, he cleared his throat and decided to be the one to answer the question that Tony had left hanging. After all, if Natasha was just back in Tony's good graces, Rhodey could at least take the blow and let her enjoy their newly re-found friendship. He grimaced, hating to be the bearer of bad news, hating to be the one to put his best friend out of his good mood, a sight that was rarer these days — and didn't that made Rhodey's heart clench.

 

“We've got news from the other side.”

 

Tony's smile turned crisped. For both their sakes, Rhodey was going to speak, but Natasha cleared her throat and raised her hand towards the genius slowly, stopping right before touching him, taking it back. She raised her head surprisingly when Tony reached to squeeze it, then let it drop again, avoiding her look and started rubbing his hands again, an unconscious gesture that made Rhodey's heart clench. Tony looked thinner and felt cold even when he shouldn't. They hadn't shared a single meal for weeks. And Rhodey hadn't realized what was going on. How could he be so fucking stupid? What the hell was wrong with him?

 

“Steve wants Sam to come back.”

 

At Natasha's words, Tony faltered, almost falling. In a blink, the redhead kept him up, took another chair and sat him. Her eyes were as wide as his, although she was staring at him and he in spaces. Stupidly, Rhodey tried to lift himself from the chair and when his legs didn't respond, in an anger he didn't think he had in him, clenched his fists and landed a blow on the _damn things_. Tony quickly reacted and went toward him, only to stop when Rhodey raised a hand and breathed heavily through his nose. He clenched his eyes shut, trying to will the damn tears away, not wanting to let his friend down by being this stupidly  _weak_.

 

Rhodey thought about walking back toward his room, and when he realized he wouldn't be technically walking, he mentally slapped himself,  _get a grip for chrissakes_. He looked at Tony, at the way the other man was, almost afraid by something that wasn't here, and yet worried by Rhodey's outburst, and he gritted his teeth, his fists clenching.

 

“To  _hell_  with  _Steve_!”

 

The words spilled before he could think, and even if he knew this anger wasn't really directed at the man, he realized guiltily that it made him feel good to say it. Too furious to truly form that thought, Rhodey threw his unfinished apple away violently and started raising his voice.

 

“He has no right to ask! He's the one who— for fuck's sake, all of this mess is his _fucking_  fault!”

 

He was shaking, anger lacing through him for God knows how long, and felt tears that he couldn't stop falling on his cheeks, his whole body surrounded by warmth and soft words hushed to him. _Fuck_. Tony was hugging him. He was such a jerk, could probably give himself the award for Worst Best Friend of the Year. He hadn't even been able to return the favor, for chrissakes. His mind nastily pointed to him how bony the genius felt. The thought willed him to calm down and when the anger dissipated, he could finally hear what Tony was rambling.

 

“...not his fault, and you know it. He's not the fuckhead who created Ultron.”

 

Rhodey shook his head and gripped his friend's arm, probably a little too tightly, “No. This isn't... _You_ weren't the one who put me in a chair.”

 

“Neither was Steve.”

 

He couldn't see Natasha say it, Tony blocking his view, and even if he wanted to snarl, he realized he couldn't at her. He didn't let himself consider she was right. Tony had stopped rambling but didn't let go of him. Didn't say a thing about the way Rhodey must hurt him by gripping him this tight. When the genius felt the man stop shaking, he stayed crouched, his hands on his friend's legs, and Rhodey found himself staring at two brown orbs that were more understanding than they should. He avoided his gaze, pride consuming the best of him. He hated this. Hated the way Tony looked at him when he was this vulnerable and saw right through him. The genius took the hand gripping his arm with his own and squeezed, a silent gesture that meant a lot for Rhodey. Tony nodded at him, still searching for his gaze, but when the other kept staring at the side, he didn't sigh, just merely squeezed his hand another time and then let it down beside the other on his friend's legs. He turned his head at Natasha, his face a blank mask while seconds before it had been an open book.

 

“Anything else?”

 

His voice betrayed no emotion. With his newly-found vision of the redhead, Rhodey saw Natasha's similar blank face. This time, he knew she was keeping it up for Tony's sakes, not wanting her worry at his behavior to show. He started loosening his grip on Tony's arm, and when he saw her open her mouth, he spoke before her.

 

“He wants Sam to take up the shield.”

 

He saw but didn't feel Tony's hands clenching on his legs. He looked at the genius' face, only to see, for maybe the first time in all of the time they have known each other, how much Tony looked _lost_. Rhodey wanted to say something but didn't know what. Tony took control of his facial expressions again and nodded while staring at his hands on Rhodey's legs.

 

“What about Sam?”

 

Bottled-up and raw emotions made the voice of the man crouched in front of him slowly, unsure, and with maybe something Rhodey _thought resemble_ _hope_. He stared at the blank face in front of him that didn't hide the emotions in his eyes and saw Natasha coming through his peripheral vision, crouching beside the two, not quite touching them but close, her hand hovering above Tony's shoulder. Rhodey's heart seemed hollow. Natasha stared at Tony, her face inches from his shoulder, crouching a little lower and looking up to the genius' eyes, and softly repeated the same words.

 

“What about Sam?”

 

As if burnt, the genius stood up and away from them, his eyes wide and Rhodey realized he had never seen him this  _afraid_. Confused, he frowned at the sudden movement and held an open palm in front of him.

  


“Tones?”

  


Before he could say anything else, Tony walked away quickly, almost running, not giving them a glance.

  


Rhodey kept staring at the door from which the genius went out for a long time, and came out of his trance when he heard Natasha soft gasp, seeing her put a hand on her mouth, her eyes wide. Before he could speak, she shook her head, silently asking him to give her time. He stared at the half-eaten apple, at the other side of the kitchen. It was split into pieces, probably from the throw. He stared at it for a while. He didn't know how long. His mind was blank. His mind was often blank these days, only for the anger to take better control of him. Ever since the crash, feelings most of the time had seemed like an abstract concept to him — nothing but the anger. It was like something in him had been severed, something that would never grow back or even function. The day he lost his legs, something in him broke in multiple and unrepairable pieces with them. Just like that fucking apple.

 

“Rhodey.”

 

This startled him, as he had forgotten his surroundings, all but the apple, that fucking thing, and he looked at Natasha, her face betraying an emotion he couldn't fathom. She opened her mouth to speak a couple of times, but nothing seemed to come out. He waited.

 

“How long have Tony known Pepper is your soulmate?”

 

His eyes grew wide. And as every time her name was mentioned, he felt butterflies in his stomach and his heart clench. James knew he should feel sick at feeling this happy in such a time, but the lovely redhead's name always did this to him. He shook his head to clear it. Now wasn't– Now wasn't the time. He sighed.

 

“He don't know. I never– they were– and she–”

 

James saw the moment it dawned on her.

 

“She hasn't said her words yet.”

 

 _Yet_. He shook his head again. He had been okay with it. It had been simple to him: if Tony and she were happy if the most important people to him apart from his parents were happy, then he would be. He had told himself this for a while. He had believed it with all his heart — he still did. He wasn't saying he was happy with the situation, but he wanted to be honest with himself. She hadn't said her words before, and now, now that he was– now that he was like _this_ , he had this underlying doubt that she might never say them.

 

“Do you know whom Tony's is?”

 

He never had. Tony hadn't asked him, and since the genius had asked pretty much everything back when they were at MIT, James had realized that it was probably because he didn't want to answer it himself. After a while, he had been okay with not knowing. When Tony told him he and Pepper were a thing, Rhodey hadn't asked if they were soulmates, and Tony didn't say anything about this lack of questioning. He knew Tony would tell him on his own time if he ever met his soulmate. After all, Rhodey was his closest friend, so of course, he would've...

 

He would, right? James didn't because– but Tony would, right?

 

Right?

 

“Why are you asking me this?”

 

He looked at Natasha confusingly. She looked back at him, a soft frown creasing her forehead. Her eyes were searching something in his, almost pleading him to understand. But what if he didn't want to? He regretted asking, and wished he could take his words back, take everything back, this conversation, the one before, the months before, everything.

  


He wished he could still hear Sam's laughter in the common rooms trying to explain something to Vision and Wanda, could still be greeted by the warm smile of Steve Rogers in the gym, could growled at Clint when the man showed up unannounced to rummage and eat all the content of their fridge but in fact doing it with him.

  


He wished he could walk again.

 

“When did they break up?”

 

Natasha's question stopped his unwelcomed train of thoughts, but before he could answer, she sighed.

 

“What  _happened_   _before_?”

 

Nothing. Well, nothing out of the ordinary. Tony had spent days in his workshop before, only to be thrown out by Pepper, but James remembered her face when she came back out, and he'd known. The fact that Tony had drunken an entire bottle of scotch by himself the evening just confirmed it. Before that, nothing major had happened. In fact, the time they saw each other before that evening, they'd been testing new stuff with Sam and Vision, enjoying themselves, Tony's eyes glued to the sky. Rhodey thought the man had a crush on Vision. But that wasn't it because there had been plenty of times after that in which he and Vision had trained with Tony's eyes on them, but he hadn't seemed this invested. The only other time Rhodey reckoned Tony acting the same was the second time they put Sam through flying tests with Redw–

 

Oh.

 

 _Oh_ _._

 

James stared at Natasha, seeing her eyes turned watery. The sight, unbelievable, made his creeping doubt all too real. She put a hand on her mouth again, and he realized he couldn't breathe anymore. Almost by instinct, she took a big gulp of air, her voice wavering.

 

“We made them fi–”

 

He put a hand between them, not quite ready to hear it yet. Natasha let herself fall on the floor, her eyes staring in spaces, the same way she had sometimes after Ultron when she thought no one was looking — the same way all of the original Avengers did. Every time she had one of those moments, Natasha avoided Wanda for a day or two. They all did, all but Hawkeye. The young girl never tried to stop them.

  


The redhead looked at him, and Rhodey didn't see the spy in front of him, but his friend who'd seen too much too early. He took her hands in his and finally decided it was better to embrace her, feeling her shake with horror, her eyes now staring in spaces. He didn't want to think about it, but if Natasha was right, if Sam was– and now he realized he kinda made sense, would explain why Tony always gave him suspicious looks when he talked to him about Sam, why he tended to always avoid the other man, why sometimes Rhodey caught him looking at the other with a thoughtful look on his face, only to suddenly stop and quickly occupy himself with something. It would explain why Pepper blanched when she saw Sam's writing for the first time. Of course she would recognize it, of course, she would have then understood why Tony did what he did.

 

It didn't explain Tony's behavior these last weeks, though. There weren't many reasons for Tony to avoid James whenever the man asked where he'd gone to that day in the Iron Man suit, and even less that would explain his declining state. The most plausible explanation was that the flight was uncharted and unsupervised, which meant it was in complete disagreement with the Accords, and the only reason Tony would do that was to meet with the others. And since neither Steve nor Tony had spoken of it, most likely it didn't go well, but there were no battles, James would've noticed bruises on the genius. It was the most plausible. _But_ , considering his reaction at Sam's mention, maybe Tony hadn't been meeting Steve, maybe he'd been meeting–

 

Maybe he'd been meeting Sam. Maybe it didn't go well. This wouldn't be the case if they hadn't–  


He felt Natasha's fist tighten on his shirt and looked her in the eyes, the untold question dawning on him.

  


_What have we done?_

 


End file.
